The Purge
by tiva-feels
Summary: E/E ship After saving a young, mysterious street rat's life, Enjolras finds himself oddly taken by the young girl. This story follows Eponine and Enjorlas throughout a journey of finding themselves as well as each other. Rated T to be safe.
1. Or So They Thought

purge

/pərj/

Verb

To rid (someone) of an unwanted feeling, memory, or condition, typically giving a sense of cathartic release.

* * *

A love which is unwanted is always the hardest to forget. Eponine Thenardier knew this all too well, for she had been on both sides of this love. Montparnasse, the youngest of the Patron Minette had taken a liking to her when she herself was a child. She had originally returned his affection, finding the young boy charming and mysterious. She had never known true love before, and had searched for it at the time, looking for someone to contrast the hatred bestowed upon her by a cruel world and an even crueler father. Eponine was not a very pretty child. She was frightfully thin, so much so that one could see her ribcage poking out through her pale skin. She resembled more an animal than a human being. It was only when she was introduced to Montparnasse that Eponine had ever felt wanted by anyone, and it was not until her second love that she realized what it meant to feel accepted.

Marius Pontmercy. Merely the name made her heart flutter. They had been no older than twelve when the two, but they became fast friends nonetheless. However, Eponine soon realized that she felt more for the young boy than just camaraderie, rather an undying, unrequited love. She had never felt anything like it before, and it had confused her. For had she not love Montparnasse? In her young mind, it had been perplexing and overwhelming, but above all terrifying. She knew of Montparnasse's job for the Patron Minette, she knew that he saw her as his property, and she also knew that he would not let her go without a fight. Eponine knew, and yet she thought it was worth it. For Marius, she would think to herself.

Six years came and went, and suddenly Eponine was a young woman of sixteen (if you could call her a woman at all), in her mind still as ugly as she had once been in her adolescence. If possible, she had become thinner. She had given up long ago with containing her unruly brown curls, opting instead for a cap to try and conceal the knots and tendrils. On top of it all, the gamine was filthy. Dirt rimmed her fingernails and covered her entire body. It was not only dirt, however, to make her unclean. Used, abused, and left with no scrap of purity or dignity, Eponine Thenardier felt violated in every sense of the word. She had given up long ago trying to fight her fate, for it only prolonged the inevitable. She was a gutter rat, the scum of the streets, a common gamine who was of no significance to anyone. She was to die, alone in the world without someone to care.

Or so she thought.

Enjolras was never a particularly happy child, but then he had never been given a reason to be. His mother died when he was young, and his father was absent most of the time. He was raised for the most part by servants, all of which called him 'the boy of marble'. He did not talk about his past for fear of the pity that others would feel towards him. A leader cannot be pitied; they must be strong. It is for that reason he took a liking to his nickname used once to mock him. Perhaps it was not all bad to be made of marble. After all, marble is strong, and a leader could not be week or seen as such. He often thought about his mother when he was alone, although he only remembered small snippets from his past. He hardly remembered what she looked like, and often when he imagined her, he saw the outline of a woman, with no characteristics or facial features. He wondered how his life could have been different if she had lived and if he had known the love akin to that which only a family could provide. He wondered how his father might have been different if she was alive.

Enjolras had often found comfort in being among those less fortunate than him, for he felt that on a certain level they were the only ones who could connect with his pain, and also a place in which he could reflect on his own good fortune. He came from a wealthy family, and he was graced with the privilege of an education, something which most in the slums would not dare even dream of. He had friends in which to confide in and who stood by him. Yet even so, Enolras felt alone. He did not seek out love; he had betrothed himself to his beloved Patria long ago. To lead a revolution, one could not be distracted by petty things such as affection for others. A leader could not have distractions, and love, he felt, had the potential to lead to his demise. So he locked his emotions up tight, not allowing anyone too close, and hardly ever letting anyone in. He preferred to be alone.

Or so he thought.

She moved slowly through the streets, slipping between bustling people in the marketplace. With nowhere to be, Eponine found comfort in being surrounded by those who did. A small smile graced her lips, as she looked around her. She loved this part of Paris, it was vibrant and happy, so different form her own home. Saint Michelle was not a place in which carefree people thrived. It was dark and the stench of rot and despair was everywhere, ready to consume anything in its path. But, it was the only home Eponine had ever known, and although she was not proud of it, she could not change what was. She stopped, leaning up against the corner of a building to intake her surroundings. Women in brightly colored dresses and petticoats dotted the square, contrasted only by men in black suits and top hats. Everyone looked so regal and prestigious. Eponine looked down at her clothing. An over-sized trench coat that once belonged to her father, a tattered skirt - the hem of which hardly covered her bare ankles, and a chemise, which was once white, but after years of use had become yellow like the pages of an old book. She had no shoes, and her soar feet were black with the grime of the day. Eponine scrunched her nose up, crossing her arms over her malnourished stomach. She hated her appearance.

"Think of your children, do you want them to grow up only knowing despair? It is the duty of the poor and mistreated to fight back!" A cry of agreement rose from the crowd surrounding him. Content, Enjolras hopped down from his pedestal (an old carton once used to carry fruit) and joined the other Les Amis de l'ABC on the far side of the crowd.

"Another fine speech, mon ami." Marius clapped him on the back. Enjorlas nodded in response, removing Marius's hand stiffly. Marius paid no mind, however. His eyes were fixed on a young woman. Enjorlas had to admit, if it were not for his Patria, he would be just as taken. She was beautiful, light blonde curls cascading down slender shoulders, pale skin contrasted only by piercing blue eyes. A lark, Enjolras decided. She resembled a lark.

Eponine envied the girl, for her life was everything that she had ever wished for. Nice clothing, a roof over her head, but above all, beauty. All materialistic, yes, but one does not realize how fortunate they are to have these little things until they no longer do. There was a time, when Papa had the inn and the servant girl, and Eponine could play the day away. She too once had nice clothes and a doll, and plenty of food and drink. She pushed the memory to the back of her mind. It was a time long ago, and it did her no good to dwell on the past. It would only lead to further heartbreak.

Enjolras nodded his head to the girl across the way, "Who is she?"

Marius shook his head, eyes still fixed the lark, "I don't know, but isn't she beautiful?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes, "Not her," He pointed in the other direction where a young, frail girl stood staring longingly at his friend, "her."

"Oh," He replied flatly, "her name is Eponine."

Enjolras watched the girl. She was beautiful in a stoic way, far different from the lark. Her dark eyes showed experience far beyond her years, experience which Enjolras did not doubt she had obtained. She was poor, dirt poor. It did not take much to figure that out. One only had to look at her small frame to know that she hardly ate, and she was caked with dirt. But, she was beautiful, nonetheless. Enjolras found himself quite intrigued by the young gamine. She had a mysterious era about her, and he could not help but be drawn to her. He felt a sudden inexplicable pang of something deep in his chest, but he ignored the feeling.

Eponine knew the man; she had seen him with Marius before. Enjolras, she believed was his name. He was an odd looking young man, far too stiff and rigid for someone of his age. He reminded her of a statue - hard and stuck. Yes, stuck was a good word to describe him, Eponine thought.

Their eyes met for a brief moment before Eponine tore her's away, allowing them once more to rest on Marius. He was still staring after the woman. Eponine heaved a sigh, and started to cross the street, not paying attention. In her daze, she did not hear the whinny of the horse, the clopping of angry hooves, the call of the driver. She looked up, just as the horse was upon her, a shrill cry escaping her lips as she covered her face. A strong pair of arms knocked her to the ground, moments before what would certainly have been her demise. She looked up to find a curly haired revolutionary on top of her, panting heavily.

Her bewildered eyes stared into his. He felt her figure begin to struggle beneath him, "Lemme go!" She cried desperately, pushing with all her might. Enjolras did as she wished, allowing the gamine to return to her feet. She stood in front of him, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as her nervous eyes flicked between him and Marius. Enjolras looked back at his friend, who was oblivious to the entire thing. He then looked back to the girl, whose eyes had found their way to her bare feet.

Enjolras once again found himself taken by her beauty. Even in her state, there was something that felt naturally good about the gamine. He watched her up close, studying her face. Each crease, each bruise, each - wait. Bruise? "Are you hurt, Mademoiselle?" He reached out to gesture to the dark purple bruise that shadowed her cheekbone.

Eponine's eyes snapped up and she swatted his hand away, "I am fine." She said stiffly. She did not trust anyone that had not given her a reason to, and although he seemed harmless, she did not know Enjorlas, therefore she did not trust him.

A grimace took over his features as he watched her. She was scared, no doubt, but of what he had no clue. Had he not, after all, just saved her life? "I must implore you, Mademoiselle, not to be afraid of me." He reasoned.

"I'm no Mademoiselle." She mumbled, "Eponine."

"I know." She nodded stiffly at the remark. She had assumed that much. It was not unknown to her that Marius's friends spoke of her often, laughed at her. They referred to her as 'Marius's Shadow'. She did not mind, it was nice to be noticed, even if only to be made fun of. "Do you need a place to stay, Mademoiselle?"

Eponine's eyes lowered, a gloomy haze spreading through them, "I do not do that anymore, Monsieur."

Enjolras looked at the dark haired gamine, confused by her response. He had meant nothing more than to help the poor girl until she was fit to once more be on her way. His eyes widened slightly with realization, "That is not what I meant, Mademoiselle, and if you believed that was ever my intention then I have behaved as a pig in your presence and I apologize." He bowed deeply once more. Eponine stared at him, unsure of what to say next. To her relief, she did not have to say anything at all, "Please, Mademoiselle. My only intention is to help you."

Eponine hesitated, before nodding. Enjolras nodded in response, beckoning for her to follow him.

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**My dear readers, I am SO sorry that it took me so long to post this!**

**But I hope you enjoy.**

**I just wanted to let you guys know that the brilliant mind that gave me the prompt for this story was Lar (found on tumblr as samanthandbarks) ... so a special thanks to her!**

**Enjoy!**

**Please read and review, it would truly mean the world to me!**

**xo**

**Alex**


	2. Malleable

The first thing Eponine noticed about his flat was the lighting. Even during the day, he kept the windows draped, leaving a lone candle to light the room. The second thing she noticed was that it was a mess. Papers lay crumpled up and scattered, making it almost impossible to see the furniture cushions or floor, books lay strewn throughout the house, left in the oddest of places, and ink dotted the walls from where he had no doubt become angry and thrown letters that had not been dried at them. But Eponine didn't mind, it was the finest place she had ever been in her entire life.

Enjolras watched her in silence as the young gamine let her hand move slowly across the upholstery of the couch. Once again, he felt a twinge of something he could not label in the pit of his stomach, and he felt himself begin to immerse in the hidden beauty of the girl. She was frightfully thin, but it was clear that she had the promise of a most shapely figure. It was her eyes, however, that he found most alluring. Those brown orbs seemed to be a window to her soul, her every emotion.

Eponine raised an eyebrow, "You are staring." She mused.

Enjolras jolted out of his thoughts to find that he was, in fact, staring at her. Eponine gave him a sheepish smile, crossing her arms in front of her awkwardly. Enjolras bowed quickly, "Forgive me, Mademoi-"

"Eponine." She cut him off.

Enjolras bowed once more, "Eponine. Forgive me Eponine."

Eponine nodded curtly, musing to herself at how formal the young man was. It struck her as odd for him to treat her with so much respect. This was mostly because no one had ever treated her with respect. She had never really minded, it was not as if she was someone who demanded the cutesy of others. She was a nobody who would amount to nothing. It did her no good to grovel with distaste at the ignorance of others.

"You shall sleep in my room." Ejolras ended the silence between the two of them.

Eponine's eyes widened. She shook her head vigorously, "No, Monsieur, I could not think of it!"

Ejolras gave her a small grimace that she assumed was supposed to be a smile, "Please," He said, "I insist."

Eponine bit her lip nervously. Of course, she would never admit to it, but it was not only the idea of taking his bed, but also the idea of it being a man's bed in general. At the age of fourteen, her father had put her to work in a way far worse from thieving. Because of it, she found men to be cruel and heartless, and above all revolting. Fate had been cruel to Eponine, and in return she had changed immensely so she could survive with each new challenge thrown at her.

Enjolras studied her reaction, the way her nose crinkled slightly, the way each muscle in her body tensed, "Unless, of course, you would prefer the couch...?" He offered, hoping to bring her some solace.

Eponine felt her body relax, "Thank you, Monsieur." She said, a small smile gracing her lips.

"Please," He shook his head, "Enjolras."

Eponine nodded, "Enjolras."

* * *

Enjolras did not sleep well; he found his mind preoccupied by his house guest. Where he thought that she would be just like any other person in need, she had proven to be quite the companion. It gave him a new perspective on the poor, although he doubted that most were as intellectual or well-spoken as Eponine. It had shocked him, the first time she opened her mouth. She was a very opinionated young lady who was not afraid to say what she believed to be true, and it lead to many debates throughout the afternoon, many of which Eponine won (not that Enjolras would ever admit his defeat). She did not laugh very often, which he did not mind; Enjolras himself was a rather serious person. When she did, however, it was a full and gleeful laugh which lit up her entire face, and Enjolras found that he could not help himself but chuckle at the sight of her.

He still could not understand his fascination with her. Perhaps it was the fact that she could have been the poster child for his revolution, but that, he felt was a rather hollow way to see her. She was not so one-dimensional, as she had proven to him this afternoon. He couldn't explain it, but when she was near him, he felt less lonesome than he usually did. There was that twinge in the pit of his stomach again. He shook his head, perching himself up into a sitting position in his bed, and resting forehead in his hands. He couldn't understand what was wrong with him. He could be sick. Yes, he thought, I am probably working myself too hard. He felt his neck for signs of fever, and after finding none, continued to check himself for other signs of illness.

"How strange." He muttered to himself, upon finding no hints of disease. It then struck him that maybe Eponine was the cause for his discomfort, although he had no clue why she would be. She was kind and quite pretty for a girl of her misfortune; however he was in love with Patria, as he had sworn himself to be long ago.

Eponine lay awake on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He was such a peculiar young man, so serious and stiff. Stuck, she remembered calling him earlier. Stuck in his routine, in his social class (albeit he was trying to break that label), even in his own home he seemed just …

Stuck.

He had proven himself to be quite the debater; however Eponine had assumed he would be that much. He was, after all, a law student with Marius. What she had not expected was for him to be so stiff. She had always assumed that in the comfort of his own home, the curly haired revolutionary would be far more open than he truly was. She always believed that his serious nature was a facade in which to hide a far more caring side of himself. It came as a surprise to her to find that she was wrong. He was every bit as cold at home as he was when he was out.

Eponine rolled over, facing the mantle. And yet, she was quite taken by the student. He was quite handsome, and she could not help but feel as if she were responsible for opening Enjolras up. Eponine understood the irony in this false sense of responsibility, seeing as she herself was not the most open person in the entire world. However, she had not right to be. The tales she had to tell were dark and painful - they would only attract pity. Enjolras, however, was a wealthy boy who she assumed had a childhood far better than her own. She could only speculate, but from what she saw he had no reason to be as unhappy as he was.

"Just you wait," She whispered as if Enjolras would be able to hear her, "even marble can be malleable."

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**Tada! Chapter two (:**

**Hope you enjoy! Thank you to all the wonderful reviews I have gotten.**

**I hope you continue to read and enjoy this story!  
xo,  
Alex**

**P.s**

**I would like to apologize in advance if I don't update too quickly. It is hard to find time while I am at boarding school! love you all (:**


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